


Calling

by hypernomad



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:32:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypernomad/pseuds/hypernomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey thinks he's got a secret talent for mini golf. Ian, however, knows where his talents really lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling

Mickey had never really been sporty – unless you count Little League, but he’d barely lasted a month on that before he’d been kicked off the team. Ian really wasn’t that much better; he was fit, sure, but that was through ROTC and fitness training rather than sports.

It is, however, the first time either of them have ever tried their hands at golf.

Well, mini golf, to be more precise.

Ian, when he’d been just a bit more sober, had decided that they ought to make the most of the summer before they have to break out the snow shovel once more and do something fun. Mickey reminds him that it’s nearly October and isn’t really summer anymore, but somehow they end up on a mini golf course anyway. They’re at some dingy little place somewhere near a beach on Lake Michigan and they’ve had maybe a few too many beers, and somehow Mickey’s beating Ian. He thinks, anyway. He doesn’t even know how you play golf. Though it could have something to do with the advantage he has now that Ian is at the point where he looks as though he’s going to fall into the shrub beside him.

“I swear man,” Mickey slurs, “this is like my calling. All my life, I’ve been—oh, woops—“

Mickey had been waving the club around wildly as he boasted about his nonexistent golf skills and had accidentally lost his grip and flung it to his side. It lands in a little pond and Mickey wobbles slightly as he goes to retrieve it. Ian finds this disproportionately funny and laughs hysterically. Mickey flips him off and goes back to get into the position he was in before.

“Mick, Mick, you’re doin’ it all wrong.” Ian slurs, tossing his empty can – only his fourth, medication be damned, but Ian’s always been a lightweight anyway – to the side and stumbling to his feet. His hair is a mess and is standing up in all directions. His maroon t-shirt clashes horribly with it and Mickey’s fairly certain he’s wearing a pair of his (torn) jeans (which are actually a pair of Iggy’s jeans, but whatever) tucked into a pair of black boots. (Ian had said he liked the leather when he bought them. Mickey had tried not to get too excited, but Ian had read him like a book.) Still, Mickey stares at him a bit dazedly while Ian shuffles up behind him, presses his hips against his ass and closes his hands around Mickey’s where they’re gripping the handle of the club.

“Look, you always make too much of a swing.” He mumbles, bringing the club back gently and making sure to grind his crotch against his smaller boyfriend’s jean-clad ass.

Mickey tries to hide his smirk and fails. Ian has a matching one on his face, but he doesn’t try and hide it. “Like this.” Ian whispers into his ear, making sure to brush his lips over it far more than is necessary. He gently putts the ball over the green Astroturf and through the broken windmill wings, his hands holding onto Mickey’s and his dick pressing into his ass the whole time.

They don’t even get to see if the ball goes into the hole on the other side because Mickey decides to attack Ian’s face the minute the ball rolls away. Ian laughs into the kiss and grabs Mickey’s ass, before pulling away and grinning. “I’ll show you what your fuckin’ calling is,” he whispers, and grabs Mickey’s hand to lead the snickering boy away.

They find themselves under some kind of pier, and it doesn’t take five minutes for Mickey to push his pants down around his knees and lean against the wooden support in front of him. Ian drops to his own knees behind him, buries his face between the older boy’s ass cheeks and proceeds to give him a very messy rimjob. (It’s surprisingly difficult to control his tongue when he’s this inebriated.) Still, Mickey doesn’t complain; if the way his moans and cries bounce off the rocks and echo around them is anything to go by, he’s not doing quite such a bad job. Luckily for Ian, Mickey doesn’t think there’s such a thing as a bad rimjob.

After a few minutes of making Mickey’s eyes water and spots appear in his vision, Ian pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before he unbuttons his unbearably tight jeans, spits on his hand and lubes himself up. He kisses the back of Mickey’s neck as he fucks him with his fingers for a few moments before pulling his hand away when Mickey grunts impatiently. The older boy reaches back to grab his dick, and Ian moans as he rubs the head of it against his hole and then pushes back on it.

Ian groans as he grips the brunet’s hips and pushes in the rest of the way, his brow furrowed. Mickey is biting his lip and groaning as he gently rocks backwards and forwards a few times to get used to the sensation.

Ian’s arms are snaking around his middle. “You okay?” He asks, stroking the skin under the green fabric of Mickey’s vest.

Mickey pants and nods. He tilts his head back to kiss the redhead on the mouth and Ian kisses back, trailing one hand down to grab the brunet’s dick and give it a few firm tugs.

Slowly, Ian begins to move, gradually picking up the pace. It doesn’t last long because Mickey’s balance is getting harder and harder to maintain and Ian is beginning to feel rather dizzy, but they go at it for nearly ten minutes anyway.

Mickey grunts when Ian finally hits his prostate, arches his back and begs for him to move faster. Ian is more than happy to oblige and soon his hips are slapping into the older boy’s ass cheeks hard, his hands gripping hard enough to bruise and occasionally stroking up his chest to twist and tease his nipples. Mickey doesn’t complain; he soaks it all up, the roughness and the spine-tingling pleasure that’s shooting up his spine on every thrust. Ian’s surprised no one has caught them yet with the racket they’re making, though with the way his heartbeat is pounding in his ears, he can hardly appreciate their volume. Ian grins excitedly, picks up the pace just a little more and fists the other boy’s cock in time with his movements.

Finally, Mickey shakes and lets out a stream of high pitched moans as he comes over the sand, rocks and the post in front of him, and a laugh tumbles out of Ian as he follows, groaning as his eyes roll back into his head and he comes hard inside of the older boy.

They stay there, panting and recovering for a few moments, before they get dressed and share an intimate smile. They don’t say a word; they can hardly see each other now that the sun has set over the amber horizon anyway. Ian cradles his head, kisses him deeply and Mickey thinks, as he melts into it and wraps his arms around him, that maybe this is that romance thing.


End file.
